A Survivalist is You! Mr Blonde
by Yellowfur
Summary: After the heist is botched, Mr. Blonde find himself on a random tropical island. He's left to his own devices, and he can't wait to test his own survival skills... -for avatarjk137's tournament, see A/N inside for more info-
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Reservoir Dogs_.**

**In order to put Mr. Blonde here (and I will be mostly referring to him as Mr. Blonde, rather his real name, Vic Vega) in my plotline, I changed the plotline of the movie of Reservoir Dogs. I will probably describe the actual plot of the movie more later in the story here, if I make it far enough to do so. **

**References can be found in the forum for the contest. If you want to ask questions about his character, feel free to PM me; I think he's a harder character to nail down than my other guy and can be interpreted in more than one way... -ish. **

**I don't like this intro much, honestly. But I'll have more time to showcase his skillz later (should I survive long enough to do so). And, _Reservoir Dogs_ fans, you probably know fairly well what I mean by that. **

**One more thing: there will be much swearing, much violence, mostly for the sake of staying true to the canon. You have been warned. It was a Tarantino movie, after all (if you don't get what I mean by that all, you're missing out).**

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"Mr. Blonde" was never really one to act irrationally. So of course, when he woke up on a tropical island, it was jarring at first, but he came to his senses and figured someone must have put him there. That, or he was experiencing his twenties all over again and this was an acid flashback… a big one… the likes of which he hadn't seen, well, since his twenties!

You'd be glad to know that Vic "Mr. Blonde" Vega was handling this whole survival thing quite well. _I even took inventory. I'm such a good motherfucking Boy Scout. _On his person, he had a lighter, two packs of cigarettes, two sets of matches, one pistol, some nicotine gum (_A fucking fat lot of good that does me!_), a couple of shiny razor blades and one switchblade. He didn't know how much ammo he had in the gun. With any luck, he supposed, he wouldn't need to find out.

But of course, obviously if you're on a random tropical island, plucked out of your normal life, _Then luck is not with you today_. Therefore Mr. Blonde wouldn't AVOID using it… after all… he had a knife, right?

Right.

_So where the fuck am I?_

He sighed and took off his dark sunglasses to get a better look. He haphazardly tossed them onto the black blazer he had ditched thirty minutes ago.

_Is this what the fucking Amazon rainforest looks like?_

See, his location happened to be the more pressing question. He knew there had to be a valid reason he was there, and he assumed it was because someone was pissed at him. He also had a hunch it had to do with the fact that his last memory before this island… Mr. Blonde was driving to meet up at the rendezvous point that old Joe Cabot had assigned to him and his comrades… he was listening K-Billy's Super Sounds of the Seventies… sure, the jewel heist they planned hadn't gone quite right, but he personally didn't think it was a total _total_ _**total**_ disaster… there was this song playing he liked, what was it again?...

Oh yeah, and there was a tied-up policeman in his trunk.

Then some large black SUV type thing was tailgating him. Mr. Blonde was worried that they knew about what he was hauling, but you know, best not to act freaked out. Next thing he knew, it bumped him off the road, he blacked out, and now he was here.

The question was not whether or not he pissed someone off enough to warrant being there, but who exactly it was. Maybe it was Joe? Surely he couldn't have gotten word so fast of the botched job. What's more was that he couldn't have been able to pull strings fast enough to get him shipped out here. And if Joe really wanted him dead, couldn't he just have him shot?

The island was jungle-like, but there was a somehow pleasant breeze in the night sky. Or was it the morning sky at this point? He'd have to wait and see how long until the sun came up for him to be able to tell. He let his mind wander for a few minutes. His thoughts primarily consisted of something along the lines of:

1. _This sure is a nice island._

2._ I wonder if other people are here?_

3._ I guess if I want food I'll have to kill something._

4. _I wonder how that cop is doing. Maybe he got out. Psh, or maybe not, fucking imbecile._

Oh well.

Mr. Blonde lit a cigarette, not worrying at all about attracting attention to himself... for what, he was sure, would soon become obvious reason to anyone or anything else in the area.


	2. Chapter 2: Predalien Queen

Mr. Blonde was sorely disappointed right now.

Yes, he had no trouble starting and controlling the fire (not that he would have cared much if it got out of control). No, he had not gotten very hungry yet, and yes, he fully believed that once he did get hungry, there must be some source of food on this island.

When he was dropped off at this remote location, it was night, and the sun was just now coming up. _Therefore_, Mr. Blonde reasoned, _When I woke up it must have been very early morning, some time past midnight_. He gave himself a pat on the back for this realization.

Actually, there had been many a thought running through Vic Vega's head the past couple of hours. He was lounging against a thick, black tree that was a couple stories high; yeah, there might be nasty bugs and other critters around him, but he had grown comfortable and did not want to move. He liked the way the smoke from his cigarette was swallowed into the smoke from his proud little fire. In fact, he might even consider way the plumes swirled together to be _pretty_, but he never really used that word to describe anything other than women (and even then, not often). _And Eddie. Just to piss the fuck outta him. Good times_.

There was some rustling around Mr. Blonde. It was not the first time that night that he had heard rustling, so he chose not to investigate odd noises until they were made more than once. So when there was a little more rustling, he sighed. _Time to pay attention. I guess_. He halfheartedly sat up and eyed his immediate surroundings for anything suspicious. _Suspicious besides being randomly plunked on a fucking jungle island_. _Ha ha._ There was nothing that caught his eye, so when he heard the rustling another time, he chose to try to locate it. Was it coming from up above? Maybe. He held his cigarette in his fingers as he craned his head back and looked straight up.

…

"Whoaaa."

He stared through the dark glasses he had put on his face in anticipation of the annoying ol' sunrise. After a few seconds of staring, he took them off and said to himself, "What in the _fuck_ is that?"

It was a hideous blackish creature. He had never, ever seen anything even remotely like it. Mr. Blonde had seen quite a lot, but he was shocked for a moment into just staring at the creature. _What. The. Oh shit. What the. What is. Does it have a SHELL? And a motherfucking TAIL?_

It finally hit him how bad this might be. He started to scramble up to his feet, still caught off guard and staring at the creature up in the tree. Suddenly, something shot out of its mouth, or head, _Mouth Head Thing!_ _SHIT!_ He jumped out of the way. _Was that a TONGUE? WHAT THE CRAP!_

Mr. Blonde jumped away and darted between some clumps of weed-possessed shrubbery. The creature jumped down from the tree. Mr. Blonde broke out into a run from his abandoned area. The thing (rather large, it was) crashed through the shrubbery he had just burst through. It was coming at him with surprising speed. Not that it looked slow, just too hideous and weird to be _fast_. He decided to stop running (not really his style anyway). Of course he kept his gun with him. He whipped it out and took no chances – he whipped around and shot at the creature once. It seemed to have hit the creature, but didn't cause much major injury, because besides making some weird rattling noise, it kept moving. Mr. Blonde shot at it twice more, this time hitting some sensitive area under the exoskeleton-like cover. This time it hiss-screeched. Mr. Blonde watched it recoil and twist away.

He put his hands on his hips and shook his head. _I doubt you can talk, you ugly S.O.B., but it's worth a try._ "What in the fuck are you, mister? … No, you know what would be goddamned _humorous_? If you were a girl. You probably are." He reached for a cigarette and chose not to pay attention to the fact that he must be lonely if he's talking to this alien-looking creature on a jungle island. "I deem you, missy, pretty one… _Nutmeg_." He lowered his gun at her form like a knighting sword, then shot at her again. A couple times. Because if he could deal with this whatchamacallit right now, he wouldn't need much more ammo for the rest of the week.

May as well go all out. A couple of more shots. This time a little blood-type stuff was splattering, but under the trees, he couldn't see it so well. Another shot, and some fluid splattered on his arm. An intense burning sensation shot up his wrist. Mr. Blonde hissed in pain and dropped his gun. "FFffuuck!" _ACID? What the-_

Now the creature, full of horribly unattractive noises, jumped on Mr. Blonde. He swore in rapid succession. The tongue thing shot out again. He moved his head, but otherwise was trapped.

He'd be damned if he was losing to something this ugly.

In constant and frenzied movements, he whipped out his razorblade and stabbed rapidly in what might be the torso of the thing, he wasn't one hundred percent sure.

Then he shot it as many times as he could.

Acid dripped onto his clothes and spots quickly burned through.

OOOOUUUCH-

He kept in this process before realizing he was doing this for half a minute to some unidentified carcass.

Mr. Blonde tossed it away from himself and ran out of the clearing as fast he could, his hands feeling like they were on fire. He ran past what felt like miles of trees and shrubs and grass and more trees and flowers and probably animals and maybe some more hideous alien _fuckers _and past some funky-looking trees and bushes and past a strip of sand-

And finally water.

He let the cold soothe his blistered hands and soak his shirt. Mr. Blonde had lost his gun and one of his razor blades back there. He would probably not regain them in his possession when he would go back later to inspect the body of whatever his first little opponent on this island was.

Mr. Blonde was more confused than ever. He was totally perplexed as to what he was surrounded by on this island, why he was here, how much longer he'd be there. Between injuries and limited means of defense, meeting tougher predators on this godforsaken chunk of land was going to be one hell of a challenge. And surely he'd eventually figure out his purpose there.

It all made his brain hurt almost as much as his hands. It all made him forget about his precious lost pistol. And it all made him smile. It made him smile a whole lot.

As Mr. Blonde soaked his acid-burned skin and caught his breath after running from some monster with acid blood that tried to suck up his face, he thought that this was the most fun he was having since tying up that cop yesterday.


End file.
